When two sides meet
by Vendetta123
Summary: When the last surviving remnants of Russia discover that they are not, in fact, the last surviving humans, they send in a recon and diplomatic team to investigate. Starts in the first half of season one.
1. Chapter 1

**Before I begin this fic, I'd like to clarify a few things. Firstly, although the majority of this fic will be from a Russian's point of view, he will be speaking in English, because I don't understand Russian, and it's easier for the fic, and for you guys to read. Secondly, this fic assumes, (with significant evidence today) that the Russians would survive the nuclear fallout with the aide of massive subterrean complexes, which have been proven to exist, like the one under Moscow.**

 **Lastly, this fic may be a bit unrealistic, but so is everything in the show.**

 **Okay, here we go. This is my second fic, please tell me what you think of this chapter.**

I was woken up by loud sirens wailing throughout the base. Shaking my head, I struggled to my feet, before looking in the mirror. Brushing aside my raven bangs, I looked into my eyes. I barely recognized the guy in the mirror anymore. Between the lack of sleep, and the constant maintenance a subterranean bunker complex requires, and the resultant exposure to miniscule amounts of surface radiation, my body was running on fumes. My normally bright blue eyes were bloodshot, and weary.

Grabbing my tokarev and it's accompanying holster from beside my cot, I smiled at it. This old tokarev pistol was less of a weapon and more of a family heirloom, stretching down throughout my family back to 1942, in Stalingrad, where my great great grandfather used it. It was passed down through generations, to me. Shaking out of my thoughts, I holstered the ancient gun to my side, and stepped out of my maintenance quarters into the chaos outside in the hallways. I ran along the hallway with the crowd until I found a familiar face.

"Dimitri" I called out, trying to get his attention. We were both maintenance workers, so when we heard the sirens it was our job to figure out what was busted and fix it before we all died a brutal death. Well, theoretically… us maintenance workers may survive, due to the miniscule amounts of radiation the three generations of workers have absorbed with no lasting effect. It's possible we may have become somewhat immune. That was besides the point right now though, I have to get his attention.

"Ah, Ivan, what is it old friend" He said with a crooked grin on his face.

"What the hell is going on here" I asked, keeping pace alongside him as we ran. "Is there a breach?"

"No" he answered. "But, there's been an alert activated. There is significant evidence of a surviving nation. All able bodies have been ordered to report to the armory for equipment and briefing."

My eyes widened. Holy shit, that was big news. A surviving nation? I didn't realize that was possible. "Wow" I said, too astounded to say more.

"And his excellent wit shows itself once more" Dimitri said, with a grin

"Shutup" I grinned back, hitting him over the shoulder.

We reached the armory, where we joined the line of fit people, and were processed through. I was equipped with an AN-94, a prototype ak- type weapon used by the special forces of our country before the war. 7.62 mm, two round burst. Very powerful, and very efficient. Dimitri was given a basic AKM, an improvement of the ancient, but powerful AK-47. We were each given roughly 330 rounds of ammunition, enough for around 10 magazines, not including the one in the gun already. We were each given Russian army fatigues, along with NBC suits, just in case of surface exposure. **A/N NBC suits are used for extremely hazardous situations in the military, such as nuclear fallout or accidents or biological and chemical attacks. That's what the acronym means, actually. Nuclear, Biological, Chemical.** The gas masks they provided us with here very high quality, unlike the other soldiers, which made me wonder. I assumed it was because Dimitri and I had military training, however bare boned. All workers in this base, no matter how small or important their position, had to do roughly the equivalent of basic training of the Russian Army, back when it still existed.

I was shaken out of my musings as we entered the briefing room, where the remnants of our government stood in front of us in front of an ancient school-like projector in a giant room that looked somewhat like a high school auditorium, displaying what looked like a crashed modified soyuz landing craft, used in the ISS before the war.

As soon as all the fit men and women were settled in the briefing room somewhat comfortably, our president in this bunker began to speak.

"Yesterday, at 14:20, what's left of our radar installations above ground detected what seems like a landing craft near the military bunker named Mount Weather."

Waiting for the mumblings and gasps of shock to die down, he continued. "We've always suspected that the US government would've survived as well, just not like this. We never thought it plausible to survive in space for this long, but evidently they found a way."

Clearing his throat, the president continued his monologue. "Originally, we were filled with feelings of retribution, and planned to launch an orbital K-100 kinetic missile from our bunker in a pre-emptive strike, but we decided not to, as that as how we got into this bunker. Instead, we have organized an expedition, to meet this vanguard of the US government. As we are stretched on men, fuel, and firearms, this will be a one-way ticket to what's left of the US. If you do not wish for this, you are welcome to leave, nothing will be held against you".

I pondered with this. Looking to my right at Dimitri, he nodded at me. We both have been curious about the rest of the world and it's current state and this is our chance to get out into the real world instead of this filtered air and artificial sunlight. We both stayed, while over half the room left.

After the people who didn't feel like a one-way ticket left, it was just Dimitri, a few other maintenance and defence forces guys, and I. If the Russian president was surprised at the number of people that left, he didn't show it. He started explaining the plan to us.

"We'll be using half our remaining air force in this mission". I furrowed my eyebrows, before I remembered that our bunker had an underground hangar, equipped with several fighter jets, transport planes, and few prototype planes that never were mass produced due the collapse of the USSR in the late 70s- early 80s. The hangar was the only part of the complex that was regularly exposed to surface radiation, which is why it was completely sealed off from the rest of the base by several pairs of lead lined tungsten blast doors. Radiation sensors warned us of a breach, and we'd either fix it, or we'd die.

I tuned back to briefing in time to hear the planes we'd be using. An ancient Antonov-255, and a Yak-141 Freestyle. I perked up at the mention of the Yak-141, I'd done maintenance on it before, and I believed it to be the coolest fighter jet to have ever existed, with its three vectoring engines. I've even done simulator flights in it in my free time, I've logged over 1000 hours in the years I've been here. Hey, it's an awesome aircraft.

"...And Ivan here, will be piloting the Yak-141 Freestyle, doing a VTOL landing in the middle of their encampment…"

I was shocked. I've actually never been in the Yakovlev's cockpit, let alone flown it. Not that I'm unhappy, it's awesome to get a chance to fly it, especially in a possible combat situation where I might get the chance to try out the 30mm cannons and air to ground missiles, but surely they have someone more qualified.

I voiced my concerns, and the president explained that yes they did, but that person left the briefing room and chose not to go. So, it's up to me.

"Yes sir", I nodded to the President. "I'll go get her set up now"

Exiting the briefing room, I ran to the aircraft, before I approached the sealant doors. Slamming my NBC suit's helmet on my head and pressurizing the suit, I cranked open the door, slamming it behind me, cranking it back into place. I waited for the system to give me the greenlight to open the second door, exposing this part of the base to the outside world.

Running up and practically jumping inside the the aircraft, I started up the engine and waiting for the control tower to give the greenlight for me to start taxiing down the runway. I could not hide the grin from my face as I touched the faded leather joystick, instead of a plastic fake simulator one. I taxied inside the cargo bay of the ancient Antonov-255. The plan was that the Antonov would open the cargo bay once over the crashed American spacecraft, and I would start the engines, and as soon as they were powerful enough, I would release the powerful hydraulic brakes on my landing gear, and the plane would slip out of the plane through Newton's first law, inertia, and I would pretty much fly down, and do a VTOL landing in the middle of the encampment.

I was shaken out of my thoughts by the sound of the hydraulic locks clicking loudly as the cargo bay door was closed, and the green light was extinguished, meaning that the massive aircraft was underway, with my aircraft in the cargo bay.

Suddenly, the last few days caught up to me, and my head slumped over as I attempted to keep my eyes open. Slowly, they slid shut, and the last thing I saw was my tokarev pistol glinting in the soft green light given off by the cockpit console, as if it was winking at me.

I was woken up 8 hours later by the green light chiming. I started awake, looking around me frantically, before realizing where, and what I was doing. I ignited the engines, turning them to VTOL mode. I heard the sound of the engines slowly vectoring to face the ground as they began to fire up. Speaking into the onboard radio, I spoke. "This is Ivan, engines are firing up, VTOL is engaged. ETA of full engine power is" -I glanced at the display "60 seconds".

I felt for my tokarev pistol, and clenched it tightly in my hand. It was my good luck charm, and I had a feeling I would need it in the coming minutes. I glanced at the display again, and spoke into the onboard radio to the crew in the Antonov's cockpit.

"VTOL is engaged, engines are approaching full thrust. Keep me in here any longer and the heat from them will burn through the fuselage."

I heard Dimitri's voice through the intercom "See you later comrade, we'll be back in a week with supplies for you, try not to die until then."

"Copy that comrade" I said into the radio, thankful I had someone I could depend on in the skies.

The hatch opened, and the inertia of the moving aircraft instantly shot my aircraft out of the larger antonov-225. The first few seconds of separation was insanity, as my Yakovlev lost total control and I started corkscrewing towards the ground.

Wrenching the joystick into my stomach, I managed to level out the aircraft a few hundred feet above the ground. A few more seconds and I'd have smashed against the ground at a few hundred miles per hour.

I looked down at the ground and caught the gaping mouths of several teenagers glancing up at me. I furrowed my brows in confusion. Teenagers? I thought this was supposed to be ex-government and military, not civilians. I hovered the rest of the way down, risking burn out from the heat the engines in Yakovlev produced. Extending my landing gear, I touched down gently, the airblast from the landing blowing many of the teenagers back a few feet.

Slamming my hand onto the red escape hatch, the plexiglas cockpit flew off, landing somewhere behind the aircraft, and I climbed out onto the wing, pulling out my ancient tokarev pistol, and slamming a fresh mag into it, cocking back the slide. Sure, it may be ancient, but nobody messes with a Russian 7.62x25mm slug **A/N No, I'm not making this up, the tokarev pistol actually chambers the same round as some models of Kalashnikov rifles, it's pretty insane.**

I shouted out loud enough for everyone in the general vicinity to hear. "Where is the leader of this camp?"

A girl with blonde hair stepped forward, and met my eyes challengly. "I am"

 **So… what do you guys think of this concept? A russian OC in the one hundred? Bad? Good? Leave it in the reviews, and don't hesitate to criticize me, I need it. Flames will not hurt me, because I'm already dead inside ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

I lowered my Makarov pistol, confused. Pressing the safety to the on position, I holstered the pistol and looked around me. Why were they teenagers? Where was the military presence? Where was the government? Hell, these kids barely had a shelter, let alone the firepower of a government in exile.

Looking around the encampment, I realized just how under equipped these teens were. They were living in an improvised shelter, with barely any resources. They wouldn't survive winter at this rate. And their leader? It was another teenager.

I was brought out of my musings by the female speaking.

"Who are you, and where did you come from"

Straightening up, I replied, "I'm Ivan, officially representing what remains of the Russian Government. Who are you, and where did all of you come from?"

The young woman replied bitterly, "I'm Clarke, and we were sent down here from our space station, named the Ark" Is there any chance you are here to help us? We're running out of resources, and we can't gather more due to the Grounders' killing us whenever we walk outside these walls. They probably saw you and" She gestured to the aircraft I landed in "that thing a mile away as you landed".

That caught my attention. "Grounders? Who are they?" I asked.

"The grounders are people who've managed to survive on the ground. They have little in the way of modern equipment, using medieval weapons to fight and survive."

Suddenly, I realized the predicament I was in. I was stuck with these teenagers in their makeshift shelter which was surrounded by god knows how many of these "grounders". I glanced down at the holster on my hip. I had two spare mags for my tokarev, each 8 rounds, and I had a magazine in my tokarev currently, making it another 8 rounds. In total, I had only 24 rounds. Not a lot.

I would have to co-operate with these teenagers to survive. Besides, it would also give me plenty of opportunities to get intel on the space station they came with.

Walking forward, I jumped off the edge of the wing of my Yakolev fighter, hitting the ground with my knees slightly crouched. Straightening up, I took this chance to survey the teenagers in more detail. They seemed like a ragtag bunch, but definitely with some fire and determination in them. They reminded me of the pictures I'd seen of the civilian survivors of the Siege of Leningrad.

My thoughts were abruptly interupted by the sound of a scream. I stiffened, my hand shooting to the side of my makarov pistol. The hell was going on?

Clark looked at me, and my reaction, before she caught on. She explained the scream.

"One of our residents was hit by a spear thrown by a grounder, hit him in the chest, somehow missing all the important bits. He's out of commision, and in a lot of pain, but he survived. He's a tough guy, he'll pull through" She seemed to be trying to convince herself as well.

I nodded to myself. I looked up, and noticed that night was falling.

"Should we prepare for night? I'll just sleep on my plane, the heat of the wings from the friction of flying should keep me warm enough… and if you have it, I could use a tarp or a blanket" I shrugged sheepishly

Clarke's eye's glittered with amusement, and she nodded. "Once I've finished securing the area with these guys, I'll give you a fire blanket that we can spare"

As she began to turn away, I grabbed her arm. She turned to look at me questionably. "Let me come, I'm the only one here with a gun" -I noticed a guy in the crowd close to Clarke shift uncomfortably- "and I can help" I finished my sentence.

She nodded, and gestured for me to come along. I narrowed my eyes at the guy who'd shifted uncomfortably as I was talking. "Who's he?" I asked, pointing subtly at him.

"Oh him" She blushed. "He's Bellamy"

"He's most likely got a firearm on him as well, probably smuggled it down from the space station you were talking about" I looked at him more closely. "If you look at his jacket, you'll see a slight bulge. Probably has a handgun, similar in size to mine, tucked in it."

She looked, and noticed it.

"So?" She asked, glancing at me

"So, he's got a firearm, and has he mentioned it to you? Seems pretty suspicious to me" I said. "Of course, he may just want to hide the attention and the stigma of carrying a weapon that can kill a man at 400 yards while everyone else is holding glorified sticks- speaking of which, why didn't the Ark send you down with enough weapons to defend yourself"

"We were supposed to land on top of the mountain concealing the ex-US military base, but the rocket missed." She pointed at a nearby mountain, and I looked at it. "That's Mount Weather. We were supposed to loot it for supplies, hopefully find additional medicine and clothing, as well as weapons and gear."

I internally grimaced. "That plan seems really stupid, does the government aboard the Ark realize how inaccurate Soyuz capsules are? Also, if a heavily concealed base was breached, it would've been looted a long time ago by these grounders, right?"

She paused. "You're right, I never-

Our conversation was stopped due to the arrival at the entrance to the ragtag wall of logs. I volunteered to step out first, and nobody argued with them. I looked left and right, although my peripheral vision was limited by the NBC suit I was still in. Speaking of which, I'd need to replace the filters in the mask soon, and somehow not get sick with radiation poisoning. Fortunately each filter has a week long life, so I have a week to figure out how to do it.

My thought were halted by everyone starting to file inside. I followed them, becoming the last one in too.

I made my way to the plane, where I found a tarp lying across the wing. Climbing into it, I crawled up onto the side of the wing, resting my head against the titanium alloy. I drifted into a dreamless, fitful sleep.

I was woken up by a little girl shouting, and I sat up blearily, blinking the sleep out of my eyes as I stared at the situation.

A little girl was screaming something about bad dreams, and the guy I had acted suspicious of, Bellamy, was comforting her. She said something about the chancellor killing her parents for petty crime, and her having nightly nightmares about it. She also said that she got sent down here for attacking a guard that was protecting her parents execution.

I felt a deep anger building inside me. How dare they execute a little girl's parents, especially in front of her. Then as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared as cold logic took over my thought process. So that's how they survived, I mused to myself. Imposing the ultimate punishment on everyone to save air, and resources. Makes sense. Somewhat.

I shook off that thought process for the time being, telling myself I'd get back to my internal debate tomorrow when my mind was fully functional. As I rested on my elbows, thinking to myself, I noticed that the situation was ongoing still.

I felt a grudging respect as I watched Bellamy deal with Charlotte. Which immediately vanished as I watched Bellamy give the little girl, Charlotte, a knife and told her to, quote, slay her demons. Yeah. Give a clearly mentally unstable little girl a lethal weapon. That'll turn out good.

I was about to intervene, when my tiredness kicked in, and pushed me back onto my makeshift bed on the Yakolev's wing. I fell asleep, only to be awoken again by a different sound.

I saw that little girl from earlier standing behind a black teenager, whom I learned the name of my listening into the conversation. His name was Wells. I continued to watch, yawning as I saw what I thought was an uneventful midnight conversation. The conversation was lit by the fire that Wells was standing in front of, and I looked at it, the thin plexiglas coating of the visor of my NBC suit glinting in the firelight. Suddenly, I noticed the little girl's face go cold, and she brought out a knife, aiming it at Wells neck.

If asked, I'd forever swear that I didn't remember ever pulling out my gun, only that it appeared in my hands as I aimed it at the two with shakey hands. It was too far for me to tackle the little girl in time to save Wells. The tip of the barrel belonging to my pistol shook in the firelight as my hands couldn't stay steady, despite the fact that I had been trained to shoot it.

"Not to shoot at little girls" my inner voice told me.

I stared at the firelight, and then at Charlotte, who's hand was just beginning to move on it's fatal path. In that moment, I decided the decision. There was no real right answer. Let Charlotte kill Wells? I'd be committing murder indirectly, by not bothering to stop Charlotte. And if I stopped Charlotte? That would be murder, plain and simple, but I'd save Wells.

I acted upon my decision, and watched in horror as the events played out as if it was in slow motion.

The gun kicked back, the gunflash lighting up the surrounding area, temporarily chasing back the night. The sound of of the shot shattered the quietness of the night, booming like a death bell. A empty casing flew out of the gun, leaving a thin trail of smoke as the round was discharged, soaring through the air. I had aimed for the hand of the girl, but Russian firearms tended to be inaccurate. I watched in horror as the 7.62mm round hit the girl's shoulder from a horizontal angle, going through her body, shoulder to hip, before exiting, ricocheting off the ground, ending up god knows where.

Time sped up, and I gasped, suddenly feeling an urge to throw up. I hadn't meant to. I hadn't meant to. I only meant to save… My makarov dropped from suddenly numb fingers.

The 100 began to file out, and I saw Clarke glaring hatefully at me.

I hadn't meant to..

 **So I kinda altered the plot of the episodes to fit the fast pace of this story. Covered almost the first quarter of season 1 in this chapter. To summarize the differences, (Excluding Ivan): The "Death Mist" never happened, Atom never died, Bellamy replaced Clarke in her role of comforting Charlotte after the nightmare, and gave her the knife then, and all this happened in one night instead of over the course of one day and one night.**

 **Review please, let me know where I went wrong, (because I did somewhere probably, I'm not that good of an author, it'll help me improve.)**


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